


Lonely Holiday

by desticockles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, idk - Freeform, umm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desticockles/pseuds/desticockles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like every other Christmas, this year is spent drinking to forget the horrors of spending Christmas with family. But unlike most Christmas nights, it's not spent alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Holiday

Castiel keeps catching the concerned glances the man a few seats down is casting his way, and it is starting to bother him. Why should he care how much Castiel drinks? Sure, sitting alone in a bar on Christmas gulping down shot after shot of vodka like it’s water is probably something to be concerned about, but Castiel couldn’t care less right now. He is about to order another round, but when the bartender shoots him a look he just orders a beer instead. While she gets him his drink, Castiel once more finds the man looking at him, his eyes lidded and sad, but still so bright, so green.

 

“Here ya’ go.” The bar tender says, causing Castiel to break away - from a staring contest he hadn’t realized he was having - to take the beer. The man raises a hand up to ask for another whiskey, which gets him a worried smile from the bartender. She almost seems as if she knows him in the way she looks at him, eyes so soft and knowing, strikingly different from the way she looks at Castiel. As she pours more whiskey in the man’s glass, Castiel is suddenly struck with the urge to talk to the man.

 

“Four whiskeys in two hours…” Castiel started, raising an eyebrow, “Christmas blues?”

 

“And just _how many_ shots did you take in that same amount of time?” the man asks, mouth turned up in a smirk.

 

“I wasn’t counting.”

 

“I was,” the bartender chimes in. She seems almost disgusted when she says, “five vodka shots and a beer. Plus the one in your hand...”

 

“I have a high tolerance,” Castiel mumbles, feeling as if he should have kept his mouth shut. The man just laughs, a warm chuckle that resounds over the soft rock quietly flowing through the room.

 

“Obviously. Most people drink that much, they end up tryin’ to dance on the bar or fallin’ on their ass…” The bartender smirks at him, gesturing towards the floor.

 

“Well, like I said, high tolerance.”

 

“Mmhmm.” she hums, shooting him an incredulous look before turning away to wipe down the bar top. Castiel nods to himself and turns to stare into his beer, huffing out a quiet sigh. He hears the shuffling of shoes on the floor, then the quiet creak of the barstool next to him and looks up to see the other man settling into the seat, staring straight ahead. Castiel watches him sip at his whiskey, making a mental map of the other man’s profile in the warm light of the bar. He’s beautiful, and Castiel silently hopes that isn’t just the vodka talking, because that man is truly stunning. The freckles dusting his face and his thick eyelashes accentuate his emerald eyes, which are currently slightly glazed by alcohol. 

 

“So, why’r ya’ here all alone?” The man asks, turning his eyes down to the glass in his hands.

 

“Oh, Dean, leave the poor guy alone.” The bartender scolds him with a sigh.

 

“No, it’s… I don’t mind.” Castiel assured, ignoring the concerned look she sent his way before shrugging and continuing her cleaning. “My family has a way of ruining every holiday with fighting, so I came here to avoid the inevitable war at home.”

 

“Yeah, I know what _that’s_ like..” Dean mumbles into his glass.

 

“Oh, do you, now?” Castiel was trying for a teasing tone, but if anything he sounded almost angry. He cringes inwardly, suddenly frustrated with his horrible communication skills. He has never been good at talking to people, and this seems to be no exception.

 

“Mmhmm,” he hums, shaking his head with a rueful smile, “Sammy and dad can’t keep their shit to themselves for even one day. Every time they’re in the same room it’s a screamin’ match…”

 

They are quiet for a long moment, silently accepting that this is their fate. Two lonely broken men in a bar on Christmas, getting drunk to forget that there isn’t anything good waiting for them at home with their families. Normally Castiel would simply retreat to his apartment, hide away from his family there and drink himself to sleep, but this year the place just made him feel worse, more lonely. He had thought that maybe going out to a bar would make it less painful, but considering the bar was mostly empty all night, that didn’t really work out. Until now, in some way; although he and Dean have only managed to make each other _more_ sad. Perfect.

 

“So, uh… Sammy is your…?”

 

“Brother,” Dean supplies, his mouth turning up in a softer, more genuine smile. Castiel can tell, from just that little smile, Dean’s brother is important to him. It’s nice to see that someone could actually love their family, because all Castiel has ever known is abandonment and anger.

 

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah. He’s th- best…” Dean trails off, small smile still gracing his face. If it was even possible, Dean had managed to look even more beautiful when he was smiling like that. It’s almost physically painful to look at him. “But dad doesn’t think so. I mean, he’s proud of the kid, sure, but he’s not really _supportive_. Drives Sam crazy.”

 

“What about you?” Castiel asks, taking a pull of his beer. Dean turns to look at him now, brow furrowed slightly.

 

“Wha’ d’ya’ mean?”

 

“I mean, how does he treat _you_?” Dean frowns, then, and turns his eyes back to his whiskey glass.

 

“I love my dad, really, but… he’s… strict, I guess.” Dean clearly doesn’t want to talk about his dad, because he glances at Castiel out of the corner of his eyes and sips from his glass before asking, “What ‘bout your old man?”

 

“He left. I don’t really know him.” Castiel makes sure he speaks without emotion, not wanting to seem like he is begging for pity. Pity is the last thing he wants.

 

“Ah, that sucks.” Dean doesn’t seem to know what to say anymore, instead settling on gulping down a large amount of his drink. They don’t speak for a long time again, just sit and drink. Mostly Castiel watches Dean, studies his profile, the way he moves, tries to find a color to accurately describe the man’s eyes. Somehow, emerald doesn’t seem good enough, he needs something better, something more beautiful. What is there in the world that is more lovely than a gem so bright? He thinks, briefly, that this man’s eyes need their own color, because nothing can ever quite cut it.

 

“Uh, so… What’s your name?” Dean asks suddenly, turning to Castiel so quickly that he misses the movement altogether. Castiel blinks dumbly at Dean, unsure how to form words anymore. All he can do is stare, just now noticing the other man’s lips… _perfect_ lips. Lips that suddenly split to show white teeth through an amused grin, accompanied by a beautiful sound. Castiel tears his eyes away from that mouth, noticing the way those green eyes dance with amusement as they return his stare.

 

“Um… Castiel.”

 

“Huh,” Dean huffs quietly, still smiling a little, “cool name, dude.”

 

“Thank you,” Castiel answers, uncertain of himself suddenly. “I, uh… I assume your name is Dean?”

 

“Yup, thas’ me.” He downs the last of his whiskey and sets the glass down with a quiet clank against the wood of the bar top. The bartender turns on him before he can say anything, giving him a warning look before reaching out to take his glass. “Sorry, Jo. I know ya’ wanna go…”

 

“Yeah, well I don’t have much to go back to, anyway… Do what you want, but no more whiskey. Alright, big boy?” she gives him a half hearted wink and sets the glass aside to clean it later.

 

“So, uh…” Dean looks back to Castiel, seeming somewhat nervous though he has a charming smile plaster on. “You got anywhere to be?”

 

“No,” Castiel answers, ducking his head and tries to hide his smirk at the implication. It’s been a long time since he even _thought_ someone was interested in him, and he’d be crazy not to notice the way Dean was eyeing him up right now. “Are you asking because you would like to leave?”

 

“Only if you _wanna_ ’ leave…” Dean rubs at the back of his neck, terribly uncertain of himself. Castiel couldn’t help but smile a little at the absurdity of Dean’s sudden insecurity.

 

“I’d rather not spend my christmas drunk _and_ alone.” Castiel states, watching Dean’s face light up over his beer. He can see there is still a cloud looming over Dean’s head, something weighing him down, something more than he is probably willing to share, and for a moment he almost thinks of telling Dean it’s a bad idea. But before he can even fully process the thought, Dean surprises him by placing a hand on his shoulder and standing up right away. Castiel is slightly shocked, but places some money on the counter to pay for his drinks, and Dean does the same.

 

“Night, Jo.” Dean says with a salute as he slaps a few bills on the bar top.

 

“See ya’ later.” Jo salutes back, then nods and winks at Castiel, leaving him once more stunned and slightly flustered. Somehow he gets the impression Dean does this often; often enough that Jo would know immediately, that her reaction would simply be to wink. Maybe he’s just over-thinking it. Surely that’s all. He isn’t even certain why it bothers him in the first place. They exit the bar, Dean practically dragging Castiel outside into the chill December air. 

 

“I hope I don’t sound like a total dick… but can we not go to my place?” Dean asks, hunching his shoulders slightly as he shoves his hands in his pockets and glances at Castiel through his lashes. He looks away almost immediately, instead staring down at his feet where he stands on the dirt and snow outside the bar. “It’s jus’ that Sammy’s there and…”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I understand.” Castiel answers, cutting Dean’s inevitable nervous rambling short. Dean smiles appreciatively, and Castiel wonders for a moment if he can do this. Wonders if he can actually just sleep with Dean and then kick him out. Somehow he doesn’t think he could live with himself if he did. Dean’s hurt, broken even, and although Castiel can’t fix that he doesn’t want to make it worse. For a split second he worries that he may be over-thinking again, that he shouldn’t _be_ worried so much about this. Then Dean huffs a quiet laugh and steps closer to Castiel, nudging him with his elbow, and Castiel forgets all that.

 

“Well, lead the way, Cas.”

 

“I…” Castiel is about to protest the nickname but stops short. No one calls him by a nickname that isn’t Cassy - which is used by very few people in the first place. Hearing this new nickname makes him feel warm and fuzzy, and he knows instantly that isn’t a good thing. Well, really that depends on what angle you look at the situation. It’s bad in the sense that he can already tell this isn’t going to be just a fling for him, even if he can’t be certain why he is so impassioned by this man so quickly after meeting him. Good in the sense that, as much as he would like to deny that he wants it to be more than a fling, he does. Although, this could all be just one sided, and then Castiel is only in more trouble…

 

“C’mon, I’m freezin’ my ass off here.” Dean says with a smile, even though he is, in fact, freezing his ass off. Castiel can see his is shivering. He grimaces at himself, feeling bad for once more getting caught up in his head, and to the point that he has made Dean suffer.

 

“Yes, sorry.” Castiel quickly looks Dean over, contemplating, before deciding to pull Dean into his arms. Maybe he can give back the warmth he took.

 

“Uh…”

 

“You were cold. I am trying to help,” Castiel interrupts, crowding Dean closer. He hears Dean laugh quietly before he pulls his hands from his pockets and actually wraps his arms around Castiel in return.

 

“Thanks, I guess?” The way Dean says this, Castiel knows that that was odd. He cringes again, glad Dean can’t see it, and resists the urge to hit himself in the face. You don’t just do things like this right after meeting someone, do you? Jesus, it’s been so long since Castiel has done something like this, he can’t even remember how it works. He doesn’t have much time to mull over it, though, before Dean is pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 

“What was…”

 

Castiel tilts his head up to look at Dean and is cut off by the other man’s lips before he can finish his question. It’s a surprise, but not at all an unpleasant one. The kiss is surprisingly chaste, though, considering the amounts of alcohol in their systems. When it ends Castiel is actually quite amazed. He had figured that Dean would be in more of a hurry to move things along, and in some ways what has been happening seems so much faster than if they were already in bed, a tangle of naked limbs and sheets. How could this feel like so much _more_? It started some itch in Castiel’s brain to try to think about it, and all he could do was stare into Dean’s stupidly _green_ eyes and try to remember how to breathe. 

 

 _Am I losing my mind?_ He wonders, blinking wildly.

 

“You wanna’ go, or not?” Dean asks, pulling Castiel from his mind once more. He only nods, and without really thinking he takes Dean’s hand, pulling him along on the short walk to his apartment. After a few steps Dean squeezes his hand, and his brain halts again, unfortunately. This seems odd, to be holding hands so soon. _Stop over thinking, it’s nothing._ He tries to tell himself, continuing down the street with Dean’s warm hand in his own. But he keeps thinking about it, about the warmth of Dean’s hand, the softness of his skin despite the rough callouses on the pads of his fingers. How can that be possible? How could his hand be so soft though still so worn and roughed up? 

 

 _I am definitely losing my mind._  

 

It feels like mere seconds before they are at Castiel’s apartment, standing in front of the building, snow falling slowly to the ground all around them. Castiel blinks in surprise, wondering if he was actually more drunk than he initially thought. But it doesn’t matter, because Dean is there by his side and he is going to freeze if Castiel doesn’t at least take him into the building. Soon enough they are in Castiel’s apartment, and to Castiel’s surprise, Dean is quiet and somewhat closed off. He stands at the door, staring at his feet as he pulls his jacket and shoes off, and Castiel wonders yet again if this was the right thing to do. Maybe this is wrong, maybe he needs to tell Dean to go home because he will regret this. But Dean looks up at him with sad eyes, and jesus he is _so lost_ suddenly.

 

“I… I’m sorry,” Dean starts, looking away again, seeming to be surveying his surroundings while searching for words. “I know you were expecting to…” he sighs quietly and hunches his shoulders forwards, trying to hide himself a little, “I don’t think I can do anything… I just… I should go, probably…”

 

“Wait,” Castiel hears himself say, and it sounds so disconnected, like it’s not really him speaking. Dean looks up at him, surprised. “I don’t care if we _do_ anything, Dean.”

 

He thinks it sounds stupid when he says it, and he thinks maybe he should take it back; because that surely isn’t something you just say to someone. That probably sounds to familiar, too close, too… It doesn’t even matter, because Dean is staring at him and he seems so fucking confused that it hurts.

 

“You… you don’t?”

 

“No. I don’t.” He takes a deep breath and moves to sit down on the couch, Dean following hesitantly. “I understand. You just need to forget about your family, and you thought sex would fix things… You’re having second thoughts.”

 

“Yeah.” Dean answers a question he wasn’t asked, hanging his head as if shamed. Castiel wants to tell him not to feel ashamed, that it’s stupid to feel that way about something like this. He has no right to feel bad for denying something to Castiel that he wasn’t sure he was ready for, either.

 

“So am I.” Castiel says, completely truthfully. It doesn’t even surprise him this time, when he says it, because it’s true and by now he has accepted that he’s feeling something that isn’t lust. Why, though, he can’t comprehend. Dean looks up at him, now, one eyebrow raised in question. “But in all honesty, I do not wish for you to leave.”

 

“What? Why?” Dean asks, almost sounding offended. He quickly tries to correct himself, opens his mouth to speak, but can’t seem to find the words. He sighs, turning away again to stare at the blank television screen across from them. Castiel also turns to stare, wondering how he could possibly answer the question he’s been asked.

 

Why _does_ he want Dean to stay? He could settle on saying that he is lonely, because that is true. But he wonders if he would have pushed Dean away had he been some other person. Is it Dean that he wants here with him, or just _someone_? Thinking about it makes him feel slightly sick. So he stops, and just turns to watch Dean as he thinks, sees his expression change slightly with each turn of his train of thought.

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answers, voice quiet and low, almost a whisper. He really doesn’t, and the look Dean gives him makes him think that Dean doesn’t believe that. So he tries to elaborate. “It’s Christmas. No one should spend Christmas alone. And spending it with family isn’t any better when your family makes you feel horrible… I don’t mind if you want to go, but I think…”

 

“Okay.”

 

“What?” Castiel asks, surprised.

 

“I said okay.” Dean sighs again, leaning back slightly, “I’ll stay.”

 

“You don’t ha-”

 

“I _want_ to stay.” Dean clarifies, stopping Castiel’s protest short. He smiles in reassurance, and Castiel smiles back. After a long moment, Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel and glances at the television, “you wanna’ see what crappy Christmas special is on?”

 

“I suppose,” Castiel answers with a quiet laugh, and reaches for the remote to turn the television on. The first channel they try is playing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and despite their reluctancy they stay on the channel to watch. A few minutes into the movie Dean moves closer to Castiel, snuggling into him quietly. They readjust a few minutes later, Castiel laying down on the couch with Dean draped over him, a throw blanket tossed haphazardly across them. Half way through the movie they fall asleep, warm and comfortable and together. In the flickering glow of the television they lay, faces graced by small matching smiles, peacefully sleeping. One of Castiel’s hands is shoved into Dean’s short hair, the other resting on the small of his back. One of Dean’s arms is pinned between the couch and Castiel’s side, the other hangs limply over the edge of the couch. They stay that way as they sleep, dreaming quietly while Christmas movies play on the television screen, a patch of drool slowly growing on the cotton of Castiel’s shirt over his stomach. 

 

And it’s the most comfortable either of them have been on a Christmas night in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if that was horrible, I wrote most of it at about three in the morning and I don't really know what this is. Hopefully it was enjoyable anyway? 
> 
> Happy holidays everyone! (if anyone even read this?)


End file.
